


Maybe Longer

by pinetreelady



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinetreelady/pseuds/pinetreelady
Summary: In 2005, Sid and Flower got married. It was a little unconventional in that Flower was a goalie. Usually when a team was rebuilding, management arranged two forwards into a pair bond.But the other first-round pick wasn’t available that season, and, worried that he might not show anytime soon, management decided to move ahead with who they did have.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 36
Kudos: 152
Collections: The 2020 Sid/Geno Exchange





	Maybe Longer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [witblogi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/witblogi/gifts).



> For witblogi: Thanks for basically giving me carte blanche to write whatever romantic nonsense I wanted to. I really hope you'll enjoy this!
> 
> Eternal thanks to E and B for all the help.

Zhenya knew the story.

In 2005, Sid and Flower got married. It was a little unconventional in that Flower was a goalie. Usually when a team was rebuilding, management arranged two forwards into a pair bond.

But the other first-round pick wasn’t available that season, and, worried that he might not show anytime soon, management decided to move ahead with who they did have. 

Once Zhenya made it to Pittsburgh, it didn’t take him long to realize that it was supposed to have been him and Sid, but he wasn’t one to dwell on might-have-beens. He put his head down and worked his ass off to prove his worth, and if a few more trade rumors got bandied about for him than for Flower for a number of years, well. It was the price to pay for not having left Magnitogorsk in 2005 to take his place at Sid’s side. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes dream of Sid, of what they could have had. Sid’s smiles for him, lingering glances, gentle touches, sharing space, sharing a life. 

Sid was happy with Flower. Only a fool would doubt that. Zhenya might have, in his weaker moments, wished for some indication that Sid, too, thought about what could have been. Only occasionally did he let himself indulge in a fantasy of an alternate version of reality, one where he was in Flower’s place, where he and Sid had the intimacy that Sid and Flower had, their communication style that didn’t even seem to need words. 

Instead, he worked to be the kind of teammate (the kind of partner) Sid deserved, regardless of his official position.

Zhenya went out of his way not to learn too much about the particulars of Flower and Sid’s marriage. He knew about Vero, of course. And players could navigate that any way they chose. Some hockey marriages were strictly hockey, without a sexual component at all, and some incorporated their hockey spouse into their existing relationships. Some apparently slept with their hockey spouse on the road, but at home only spent time with their private-life spouse. 

Flower had Vero, but Sid had no one else but Flower, so Zhenya felt a kind of obligation to keep himself single, too, in a kind of unspoken solidarity.

And then it became clear that Flower was going to be traded away.

Zhenya was furious.

It wasn't fair to either of them, Sid or Flower. The whole point of a hockey marriage was to keep that kind of thing from happening. 

He ranted to Seryozha but wound up at the same conclusion as always, that if only he'd done things right, it wouldn't be like this, two of his closest friends having their hearts crushed. 

"Just because it's not a typical hockey marriage doesn't mean it's disposable," he fumed. 

Seryozha looked uncomfortable. He wasn't management, he was on the coaching staff, but questioning authority made him nervous. Zhenya's parents could be the same way. Too many years of living under Soviet rule, Zhenya thought meanly.

They could have activated a rule allowing them to keep both Murray and Flower. Protect Murray, and exert captain's spouse privilege to override the expansion draft rules, but they didn't. 

And worst of all Sid didn't want to talk to Zhenya about it at all. Zhenya's efforts to express his anger and sympathy were firmly rebuffed, leaving him feeling worse than before. Sid always turned it back to hockey: “Let’s win another Cup for him, eh, before he has to go.” 

It made Zhenya second-guess his own predictions.

He had a little more luck with Flower. "Sorry, Flower, this sucks," he said, not wasting time on pleasantries.

"It does," Flower said, and his smile was weak. "Nothing to be done for it, though, right? Just gotta make the best of it. At least I've got Vero."

Zhenya twisted his mouth. It didn't need to be said, but the words hung between them anyway. _Sid was alone, now. He was the one to worry about._

"I'm do my best, be here for him," Zhenya said, injecting determination into his voice. He looked Flower in the eye. "I'm know it's weird position for the team, but I'm be here."

Flower looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't think management will dare to bring it up to his face," he said. "But you might."

Zhenya searched his eyes, but he was pretty sure he knew what Flower was getting at. "Another marriage, you mean."

Flower's nod was almost imperceptible. "It's maybe a little weird. You might have to lean into him pretty hard. But. It would probably be the right thing, for him, for you and for the team."

Zhenya had a romantic soul, and it's true that he'd had deep fantasies locked away in his heart, of proposing to someone he loved beyond all reason. Perfect words at sunset; an abundance of flowers, crystal glasses filled with sparkling wine, and even sparklier jewelry. 

He hadn't ever considered a hockey marriage proposal, but now that Flower had suggested it, he couldn't get it out of his mind. 

He wondered if he should seek approval from management before addressing it with Sid, but the way they'd handled this one ... fuck them. He didn't need anyone's permission. Sid was no maiden. They were both men, entering the long twilight of their careers: he could do what he liked. 

In the end it didn't matter, because Management, despite Flower’s prediction to the contrary, got the jump on them.

Sid and Zhenya were called into a meeting with management. He texted Sid. “What’s this about? We bring agent?”

Sid, predictably, ignored the first question but answered the second. “Brisson says he doesn’t need to be there, but that we should agree to nothing before consulting them.”

Duh. Zhenya was a little insulted that Sid thought he needed that reminder. 

Zhenya opted not to wear a suit. Sid probably would, but Zhenya wore dress trousers and a button-down shirt, but no tie and no jacket. Sid wore suits like armour. Zhenya liked flexibility. 

“Well, gentlemen,” Jim greeted them, affably enough. “Coffee?” 

Zhenya shook his head. He’d had his quota at home. Any more made him jittery, prone to opening his mouth more than he should. And Sid raised his ever-present water bottle and shook his head, too. He looked calm and unruffled. Hopefully Zhenya did, too, but he felt anything but.

Jim got right down to it. “I know it seems fast, but we can’t have an unmarried captain,” he said bluntly. “It’s not done. The most logical choice is to have the two of you marry now, but of course we won’t force the issue if you have strong feelings against it.” They had a lot more leverage now than they had as wide-eyed rookies, is what he was saying. 

But Zhenya wasn’t fooled. Refuse this, and he’d find himself on the trading block in a few months. He wasn’t naive. But he pushed down the surge of resentment he wanted to feel; he could give it full expression later, on his own. 

Zhenya didn’t hesitate. “No objection,” he said. Too late, Zhenya wondered if that counted as agreeing to something, and if Sid would be mad.

But everyone’s attention turned to Sid, so Zhenya could look at him, too. His face was a mask, and he said, “I’ll have to discuss it with my family and my agent, of course, but it should be fine.”

It was hardly the ringing endorsement Zhenya would have liked, but he’d take it. A decade and a half too late, but it did feel like a gesture toward putting things right. He didn’t appreciate being manipulated by management, but of course he’d do his best to be the spouse Sid deserved. 

The meeting was over and done in fifteen minutes, and although Zhenya didn’t regret his immediate agreement, stepping out of the room, he wa met with an unexpected surge of anger. 

He and Sid, by mutual unspoken agreement, talked only of pleasantries until they were out by their cars. By which point Zhenya could barely contain his resentment. Not so much on his own behalf, but on Sid’s. 

“You don’t feel like they’re manipulate you?” he asked, and he knew he sounded bitter. 

Sid shot him a quick, startled look. “Me? No,” he said dismissively. “I don’t love that they’re playing with you, though.” He sighed. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I’ll see if I can get this sorted out. You shouldn’t get stuck in this mess now.”

Of course Sid would hear Zhenya’s resentment and misinterpret it to mean Zhenya didn’t want to be stuck with him.

Zhenya grabbed Sid’s arm. “No, Sid, I’m not stuck. I choose. We can get married.”

Sid met his gaze and stared at him. Zhenya thought fleetingly of the sunset, the flowers, the wine, and poured every ounce of conviction he could into his expression, so Sid couldn’t possibly misinterpret. 

Zhenya squeezed his arm where he was grasping it, and then slid his hand down to Sid’s, folding their fingers together. “Really, Sid,” he said quietly. “Let’s get married.”

It was surprisingly easy, after that, to manage at least the practical details. A quiet civil ceremony, the decision to move into Sid’s house, but not to sell Zhenya’s just yet. All taken care of and wrapped up so they could spend their summers as usual, and come back to a new reality in a new season.

Sid initiated one more conversation, though.

"Flower and I, we didn't really—" Sid broke off, and took a breath, then blew it out. "We didn't really sleep together much. It was unconventional to begin with, and he had Vero, and I didn't like to interfere in that."

Zhenya could hardly breathe. Sid had given him _no warning_ for this conversation at all.

Sid licked his lip, and then continued. "But sometimes, on the road, we did, because. You've heard the stories. Supposed to help the team, you know? When things were rough, we would do it. But I'm not sure what you're expecting, or what's best for the team. I'm, uh, open to whatever will work for you."

Christ. How was Zhenya supposed to respond to that. He cleared his throat, because Sid deserved an answer. "It's fine with me, to do how we're supposed to."

Sid's skeptical look in response told him that Sid hadn't expected him to say that. 

Zhenya shrugged. "I'm not gonna sleep with other people if we're married. And." He cleared his throat. "I'm with men, before. It's not bad for me, sleep with you."

Sid's eyebrows were ever so slightly elevated. Sid hadn't expected that admission, either, apparently. Zhenya watched him rearranging his mental landscape. It was actually cute. "Well. Good. That's easier, then."

And that was that. The most clinical discussion Zhenya had ever even heard of, of a decision to sleep together. Part of him wanted to chirp Sid about it, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. This was a more delicate subject. 

Still, his imagination—or, rather, his subconscious—went wild over the summer. He'd wake from half-remembered dreams of being in bed with Sid, sweaty and hard, Sid's smile and the crinkles around his eyes lingering in his consciousness like afterimages behind his eyelids. 

*

Summer was strange. He felt ordinary, and he’d occasionally forget that things had changed so fundamentally between him and Sid, and then it would come back to him with a jolt, in the morning when he awakened, or even when he was out and about with friends.

He didn’t even attempt to hook up with people, and he saw his friends noticing, but there was nothing for it. 

He’d always made more effort to keep in touch with Sid over the summers, but this time, as the summer wore on, he tried even more. He even sent a big bouquet of extravagant flowers for Sid’s birthday, which Sid acknowledged with a picture and a text that simply said “Thank you :)”

*

Zhenya arrived back in Pittsburgh the first week of September and everything was normal enough until he went to give his address to the cab driver and realized he didn’t actually know Sid’s house number. He sighed and directed the driver to Sewickley while he looked it up on his phone.

Sid was expecting him and they chatted through dinner about trades and prospects, and Zhenya let Sid's commentary wash over him, warm and comforting, like the shallows of the ocean.

When they got up and cleared the table, Zhenya gently bumped Sid out of the way. "You cook, I'm clean up," and Sid rewarded him with a genuine smile.

Sid took Zhenya at his word and let him clean up, just sitting on a bar stool continuing to chatter on about hockey, as he could do endlessly, as Zhenya had seen him do for a decade and more, while Zhenya loaded the dishwasher and washed the pots and pans and wiped down the stove and the countertops. 

Once Zhenya was done, Sid got up and led the way into his den and they sat and watched some show of Sid's that Zhenya was having increasing difficulty following. Something historical? With thick accents and a lot of guns. 

Finally Sid seemed to notice that Zhenya was fading and he pulled Zhenya up from the couch, out of his doze. "Let's get you off to bed," he said, and Zhenya nodded slowly, feeling like he was underwater, he was moving so slow and thickly.

"Jet lag's the worst, isn't it," Sid said sympathetically, and led him upstairs. Zhenya brushed his teeth and stripped to his underwear and Sid said, "This side of the bed okay?" And Zhenya nodded and climbed in. 

Nerves attempted to penetrate the slow, sleepy feeling he'd been fighting for the last hour. Were they...? Was this…? They hadn't _talked_ about it, but maybe it didn't matter, because Zhenya's tongue was stuck in his mouth. He wanted to ask Sid, how are we doing this? What do you like? When are we—he'd looked up the word _consummate_ and practiced saying it: "how do you want to consummate our marriage," only he'd say it playfully, so they could have fun together, the way they did on the ice when everything was clicking, or during the dumb challenges PR was always having them do, where they always managed to have fun despite the awkwardness of the set-up, because it was Sid-and-Geno and they had _chemistry_. 

Why had it abandoned them now. 

Sid turned out the lights and it was so dark. Zhenya felt the mattress dip and heard the rustling of Sid situating himself and then silence. 

"G?" he whispered.

Zhenya reached out blindly and found Sid's arm, and he squeezed it, gently. 

"You awake enough for this?" Sid asked, and Zhenya's heart pounded in his chest. He tried to speak, to say the phrase he'd fucking practiced, but it wouldn't come out.

"Not sleep yet," Zhenya managed. 

"Good," Sid said, and rolled toward him. Zhenya was disoriented in the dark, but Sid evidently had a plan. 

"Like this," Sid said, and pulled at Zhenya's briefs. Zhenya could take a hint, so he pulled them off and reached out toward Sid, aiming for his hip, to draw him close. Zhenya was tired. He didn't really register Sid's resistance, but Zhenya moved closer anyway, and Sid took his dick in hand. No foreplay, okay, Zhenya could roll with it. He reached for Sid's dick and found him already hard. Okay then. 

He curled his fingers around Sid's dick and angled toward him, but Sid put a hand on Zhenya's chest. It didn’t register in the moment that Sid was holding him at bay, keeping space between them, except for the one point of contact of their hands on each other’s dicks. It was a little weird, but whatever. It felt good to get off, and hopefully it did for Sid, too, judging from the satisfied sounding groan he let out before Zhenya felt him twitch and spurt all over his fist. 

Fumbled hand jobs in the dark were fine, Zhenya thought sleepily when Sid pulled away. Better than fine, really: it had been a long summer. Zhenya figured it was at least a step in the right direction. 

He didn’t expect to wake up a couple of hours later, off-kilter and needing to pee, alone in bed. 

Zhenya got up and peed, and then paused. Where was Sid? He crept out through the door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. A little moonlight shone in through the hall window, and he pushed the door to the first guest bedroom door open, and paused. He couldn’t see much, but he listened, and Sid was definitely in there, snoring a little. Zhenya backed out of the room and back to bed. Only the force of habit made him fall back to sleep.

He woke up too early, before dawn, thanks to the jet lag, with too much time to think. It was nothing like the warm fantasies that Zhenya had harbored over the summer. It checked a box, fulfilled the letter-of-the law requirement of sex, but it wasn’t what Zhenya had had in mind. Zhenya knew there was a word to describe it, and he pulled out his phone to hunt for it. Sure enough, he found it: perfunctory. He mouthed the syllables, listened to the tinny phone voice pronouncing it, and said it quietly aloud. 

He read headlines, answered texts from friends in the league and at home, and scrolled through Instagram, until it was time to get up and take a shower. 

Downstairs in the kitchen, Sid was at his laptop on a barstool, a mug of coffee at his elbow. Without preamble, Geno said, “Sid, I’m not kick you out of own room. I take guest room instead.”

Sid looked up at him, face neutral. “That probably makes sense.”

Zhenya pushed down the disappointment welling in his chest. He knew he was a crappy bed partner. He hogged the blankets and he snored when he laid on his back. And god knew Sid was used to sleeping alone. Zhenya _liked_ sharing a bed, but well. The marriage was for hockey, after all, and Sid’s routines took precedence over Zhenya’s preferences. 

*

Just because it was a hockey marriage first and foremost, didn't mean Zhenya didn't want it to be a happy marriage. Perfunctory sex or no sex at all, Zhenya set out to make it as happy a marriage as he could. He went out of his way to be considerate, to not leave his shit lying around, to put things on the grocery list Sid kept on the fridge, to offer to cook.

*

Sid had a ridiculously long shelf of cookbooks in his pantry. And when Zhenya had taken a couple of books down, incredulous, to see if they bore signs of actual use? He was surprised to see post-it notes, markings in Sid's handwriting, stained and creased pages. Apparently all the cooking skills he'd acquired came from actual books, and not the internet, like a normal person. Zhenya shook his head, bemused.

But Zhenya kept looking, and found a stack of newer books, crammed in on the end. He blinked. Russian food? Slowly Zhenya turned the pages, seeing familiar ingredients he rarely bothered with unless his Mama came to cook for him, something she was less and less inclined to do as the years went on.

"Zhenya, I'm tired," she'd say. "There's good Russian food in Pittsburgh, just order it." Besides, she and Papa liked American food, requested it and ate it enthusiastically when they visited him, here or in Miami. Reluctantly, Zhenya had realized that they didn't come here so much to take care of him anymore, as to have a vacation. 

Now, the book Zhenya was leafing through caught his attention, and longing tugged at him as though from the pages of the book. When Zhenya tried tracing it to its root, he found two sources: a longing for the food itself, but also for someone—Sid?—to make it for him. The knowledge that Sid had thought about it was nearly the same, and Zhenya closed the book and replaced it with the others on the shelf. 

Zhenya found other books around, too, on the shelves of what Sid called his library, always slightly self-deprecating. There was a whole shelf of books about Russia, biographies of the Tsars and academic-looking volumes on the Soviet era. Zhenya wondered how long he’d been reading about Russia for.

Sid was at Tanger’s visiting the kids, and Zhenya was rattling around at home. His phone rang, and he pounced on it. That’s what restlessness could do to a man. It was Flower. 

“Hello?” he said, tentatively. 

“Geno, my man.” 

“You looking for Sid?” Zhenya didn’t know why Flower would be calling him. They were friends, sure, but since the trade, their relationship consisted mostly of texting each other dumb jokes or pictures of past or present teammates with awkward looks on their faces. 

Flower snorted. “I know where Sid is. If I wanted to talk to him, I’d call him.”

Of course Flower knew Sid and Tanger were together. Zhenya was a little surprised he wasn’t on Facetime with them right now, in fact. 

“I talked to them a little while ago, your husband is enjoying his evening, and I called you because he’s there and I might actually get to talk to you without him listening in.”

Zhenya raised his eyebrows. “What’s up, Flower.”

Flower sighed noisily. “How’s it going, anyway?”

“It’s good.”

“You like being married to Sid?”

Zhenya crinkled his nose. “Yes, it’s fine.” There was no way this wouldn’t be weird, to talk about his relationship with Sid with Sid’s ex-husband. 

“Just making sure you’re taking good care of him,” Flower said.

Zhenya rolled his eyes. “I’m here, Flower. I’m take care,” he said firmly.

“Stay with him, Eugene,” Flower said, sounding more serious. “Don’t leave him.”

Zhenya’s breath caught. “I’m not leave,” he said, then cleared his throat.

Flower was silent, and Zhenya wondered if the call had dropped. 

Zhenya heard him take a breath, but he didn’t speak. 

“You talk to him? He seems okay to you?” Zhenya finally said.

“He won’t really say much in any detail,” Flower admitted. “It’s almost impossible to get him into a place where he’s willing to open up.”

It made Zhenya feel about 200 percent better to hear someone like Flower saying that about Sid, too. It wasn’t just Zhenya who struggled to understand him. 

*

It was time to speak up. The preseason was ticking down.

Zhenya thought about what Flower had said, and put his feelings into words. 

It soon became evident that Sid had been doing some thinking of his own.

*

“Sid, I’m—” Zhenya trailed off. All his carefully crafted thoughts and phrases dried up in his mouth at the look on Sid’s face. 

“Listen, I’m sorry it’s like this, Geno.” He raked a hand through his hair and took a breath. “You can’t know how much I wish I could, I don’t know, send a message to myself in 2005 to say to just _wait_ for you.”

Sid shook his head, and Zhenya tried to respond appropriately. 

“What you’re saying, Sid?” he asked, finally finding something to say.

Sid sighed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “But I have to lay all my cards on the table, here. I can’t keep letting you believe a lie.”

Zhenya stared at him dumbly. “Please, Sid, tell me what you’re saying. I’m.”

“I know,” Sid said, looking resigned. “Look. I should have waited for you. I should have said no to the marriage with Flower. I should have been brave enough to speak up. I let the team down, and I let you down.”

This was the first time Zhenya had ever even considered the idea that Sid hadn’t been in complete agreement with management’s decision. But that wasn’t the important thing right now.

“Sid, it’s not like that,” Zhenya said, and his voice sounded hoarse.

“I know, okay?” Sid sounded bitter.

Zhenya cleared his throat and shook his head. “No, Sid, you’re not understand.” He picked his words carefully, thinking of what he’d rehearsed in his head. “I’m the one who fucked it up. I should have come in 2005, instead of a year late. I was too late, and I never stop wishing I was more brave, back then.”

Sid was staring at him. “Geno, don’t you dare take this on yourself. You were a kid, under pressure from a system trying to control you. You couldn’t have known, it’s not your fault.” Color was rising on Sid’s cheeks.

Well, by that logic, Sid was doing exactly the same thing. “Listen to what you just say to me, Sid.”

Sid blinked at him, and his face kind of—crumpled. He put a hand up to his forehead and shielded his face. “It’s different,” he said, voice choked.

“It’s not,” Zhenya said quietly. “It’s same. And, Sid, we can’t change what we did when we’re so young.”

Sid sat, motionless, and Zhenya wondered if he should leave so Sid could work through his feelings in private. But he worried that if they didn’t hash this out now, they might never do it, so: waiting quietly it was. 

He counted silently to sixty, and then again. Sid drew a shuddering breath, which made Zhenya wonder if he’d been counting too. Silently Zhenya snagged the tissue box from the table behind the sofa and put it in front of Sid. He took one and blew his nose, and Zhenya looked at the floor so Sid could at least wipe his eyes in peace. 

“You’re right, we can’t change what we did then,” Sid said, finally, and Zhenya raised his head to look him in the face. Sid didn’t look happy, and that made Zhenya’s stomach sink. What martyred bullshit was he cooking up _now_. 

Zhenya wanted, like Sid said at the beginning of this painful conversation, to put all his cards on the table. But. What Sid wanted also mattered, and Zhenya wanted to hear it.

“What you’re want now, Sid,” he said, as gently as he knew how. “I want to know.”

Sid blew out a long breath. “Well. Seeing as how time travel is out of the question, what I want is,” he broke off, and Zhenya watched him steel his spine. “You understand I don’t want to pressure you, right?”

Zhenya nodded. “Yes. Please tell me.”

“I want to try to—have the marriage we should have had when we were kids, only to do it now. I can’t fix the past, but I can make a new plan.”

Zhenya’s heart lightened. “I’m want this, too, Sid. From now, until we retire, at least. Maybe longer.”

Sid looked at him, and his mouth dropped open. 

“I’m think I only get little bit now, and marriage with Flower is temporary so ours is, too, and I—I’m hate that. Want to do forever.” 

Zhenya had liked Sid since the first time they’d met, and more as weeks and months turned into years. His earnest desire to include everyone, his big heart, his work ethic, his dedication. How he made everyone around him, even Zhenya, better. But his fondness had only grown as they’d lived together these past months.

“You work so hard, make me feel like I’m matter, like marriage matters to you, and I’m want to keep it. Want to do same, only for you.” 

“You do, G,” Sid said, voice rough.

Zhenya knew that wasn’t true. He didn’t have Sid’s steadfastness. He had the commitment to Sid, but not the habits that Sid had, of making Zhenya feel like he mattered to Sid, day in and day out. 

He could learn to show Sid how valuable he was, to Zhenya. He could maybe cultivate the level of thoughtfulness that Sid had. He could try.

“Not yet, Sid,” he said, and took a breath. He held out his hand, and Sid took it. Zhenya brushed his thumb across Sid’s knuckles. “Not yet, but I’m keep trying. Learn from best.”

*

Zhenya retreated upstairs to read a novel for a while, to give them both a little time to process. 

Sid appeared in the doorway an hour later, and Zhenya looked up to meet his eyes. 

Sid was smiling. “Want some dinner?”

“Yes,” Zhenya said. He wasn’t surprised that Sid had made food for them. He seemed to use cooking to decompress.

They ate the burgers Sid grilled and a salad, and Zhenya cleaned up. 

Sid hovered until Zhenya was done, and Zhenya dried his hands deliberately. He’d been thinking of what to say, what to do. He crossed the room and Sid didn’t move away. Zhenya put his hands on Sid’s shoulders, and squeezed. He leaned in to kiss Sid, just once, softly.

"I'm do the way I'm like," Zhenya told him, looking him right in the eye. "We consummate right way, this time." Zhenya relished the way Sid's breath caught, the way his eyes darkened, as Zhenya drew him in for a kiss. 

They hadn't kissed nearly enough, to Zhenya's mind. He pressed his lips gently to Sid's, pulled back, keeping eye contact, and then flicked his eyes down to Sid's mouth and moved back in. He licked delicately at Sid's lower lip, and his mouth fell open, so Zhenya took the opportunity to suck gently on the rounded fullness and Sid gasped. Zhenya dragged his nose along Sid's cheek, up to his ear, and Zhenya bit gently at Sid's earlobe. 

"Jesus," Sid said, and he sounded breathless. "I admit it, your way is better."

Zhenya huffed a laugh. "Yes. Better." And he slipped a knuckle under Sid's chin to tilt his mouth up to meet Zhenya's again. Sid's arms curled around him, one around his middle, the other around his neck, hooking him in place. 

Zhenya had that feeling of being caught in a perfect, lingering moment of happiness, standing there, in each other’s arms, exchanging kisses. 

At last, Sid pulled back enough to meet his eyes and smile, and Zhenya’s heart thumped in his chest. “Let’s go to bed.”

Zhenya slid his hand down Sid’s arm to clasp his hand, and tug on it gently. “Yes,” he said softly.


End file.
